Paths that meet
by Belthronding
Summary: Two lone elves meet on the shores of Middle Earth, will they forsake their own miseries for each other? Featuring Nellas and Maglor. *complete*
1. Meeting

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Disclaimer: The character's are Tolkien's, not mine.

Author's note: I think these two characters go well together. We never learn the fate of Nellas, so I don't see why she could not have fled the ruin of Doriath for other lands. I know it is short, but these are meant to be vignettes.

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Paths that meet

The ocean. So pure, so calm and peaceful. Gently lapping at his feet, frothy and white, yet hidden is its cold treacherousness. He walks alone, casting a desolate figure over the already bleak landscape. Who would come here now? The Elves have left Middle-Earth, forsaking it, the land of their toil and woes, for Aman, the Blessed Realm. Not all, though.

The one here walks stooped, but once he stood tall and proud, a prince among Elves. Now, he is a mere shadow of his former self. Gone are his brothers, his family, even his enemies, and they were many in later days. All that remains of the objects that were once the centre of his existence is the memories inside him. Its presence tormented him, tortured him unbearably, and so he thought only one option was left: standing in the shallow waters he gripped the object tightly in a sweaty palm, curved his arm upwards in a perfect arc, and released It. Faintly he heard the sound It made, as It touched the surface of the sea then sank to a watery grave. Had he now defiled the waters? Or on the contrary, blessed them with the priceless jewel of his father?

On he went, farther up the coast, for at night he imagined the Silmaril as a beacon shining at the bottom of the sea, flashing, calling to him. What he wanted now was a quiet life, of solitude, reflections and singing his pains and regrets to the wind; but above all living as simply and reclusively as possible.

There was one though, who lay hid in the trees but espied him from afar. She had lived alone for long years, but not here, in other woods, in another time. Little did she know of the ways of the wide world for she spoke to none. But…a boy she knew once, in his childhood, dark featured, handsome and tall. She had not been afraid of him, and had taught him the rudimentary ways of the wild. Then he grew older and she stayed the same, but he called no more for her. She heard that he went to fight in Dimbar, and then when he came back, he was in trouble. Beleg, the kind huntsman had persuaded her to come before Thingol, because she had seen the boyish man again, in the midst of the trouble. Oh! She had been awed by the vast halls of Menegroth, the riches, the smells, the ornate carvings, but more than anything else, laying eyes on Elu Thingol, and Melian, who was, apparently, a Maia. She had managed to redeem the wronged man, but he was long gone. How could he now be pardoned? She never knew what came of that. She passed out of all knowledge and retired to a favourite tree, whose branches were lithe and smooth, and watched idly the world go by. But not all were idle.

She knew the Elf standing before her now. He had been running fast, desperately, through her land, as if pursued by wild dogs, or perhaps something far worse? And she remembered the red! The cries were muffled and scarcely reached her ears, but the burning of Menegroth one could see many miles away: Trees burning, smoke rising, grey air.

Strangely though, she did not hold him to blame; but still, she feared him. There had been other elves too; one who sought long and hard in the woods for something or someone, and who nearly discovered her. 

Could she still be afraid? His face was drawn and tight, the few times she saw his eyes they seemed filled with unshed tears, with sadness and…regret?

He sighed. What now? He wondered how Maedhros was faring, but deep inside him he knew his brother had passed to Mandos' Halls. He must have felt the pain and anguish too, but surely ere the end he knew that the oath was void. If only Russandol had listened before! They would not have stolen the jewels, but gone back to Aman, the land of their birth, to be judged fairly, for they were hardly innocent, and deserved whatever punishment they were sentenced to.

Could she call to him? She didn't know if she dared, she was so very shy. Yet she saw his bent form, singing softly to himself, gazing at the swirling waves, and she pitied him. Maybe she would help him? She wasn't sure she was capable of such a thing, but what of Túrin, surely she had been of some help to him? She extended a pale arm fleetingly, then drew it back.

He wanted to be alone. His kin, the Noldor, he did not want to see them again, and he wouldn't. He tried talking to the waves, telling them his deepest feelings, his shame, regret, broken ambitions, but the sea flowed on, indifferent. He could sing his laments into the wind, and imagine it carried his voice far off, which was of some comfort. The birds and beats were few, and most flew or scampered away at his approach, so he could not talk to them.

She admired his singing greatly. She remembered another elf, who was from Doriath like her, Daeron, that was his name. Sometimes his voice rang so clearly through the woods of Neldoreth that she was moved to tears. Perhaps this elf's voice was not so pure, but there was more variety to it, more _life_, a rawness that her ears attuned to easily.

Someone was there. It was as if a cold hand had touched his shoulder, light as a feather, but on turning around, he saw no one. 

Did he feel her touch? She shrank back into the shadows, watching, waiting, apprehending his reaction. He stood up, not nearly so bent as before, and squinted in her direction, gazing at the trees. His arm left his side, and his hand was palm upwards as in a symbol of offering, offering _to her?_

Her own limb moved of its own accord, and there it was suddenly, lying on the elf's. Two pale hands, not entwined, simply touching, but that was enough. Then her feet moved and she came fully into the light, and he looked her up and down. Was he shocked at what he saw? He did not expect another presence, along these deserted shores, but now that he had company, would things change?

Who was she? Like a ghost she was, so pale, so fragile. Looking into her eyes he saw she was not of the Noldor but he wondered where she had come from, and how long she had been trailing him without his knowing. She looked at the ground, her cheeks tinted red, contrasting with the rest of her complexion, and he smiled. Their hands were still touching, as they stood there, frozen in time, similar to wood carvings for one and marble statues for the other. Long they stood on the shore, the moon appeared and they were bathed in a silvery light, their forms casting long shadows in the sand. Finally, the ner roused himself out of his silent state, and spoke:

'What is your name, fair elf maiden?'

'Nellas.' No more than a whisper, he scarcely saw her mouth moving.

He gazed out again, at the sea, bringer of joy or misery, at the silver crested waves that moved to a tune, not _his_ tune.

'I am Maglor.'


	2. The White Bird

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Author's note: This is the second part, hopefully it's a little more cheerful than the previous one, which is a first for me. I'm sorry if you're unhappy with the ending, feel free to review/email with your own views . Thanks to Maeve for useful thoughts.

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The white bird

The elf stirred. The day was just about to rise, it was the time when it was neither night or day, a time when the light of Two Trees would have mingled, he thought to himself. The waves still lapped at the shores, a deep blue colour, but the clouds were already tinged slightly pink; the vessel of Arien was approaching. 

The night had not been pleasant, for many strange dreams had plagued him incessantly; voices from Sirion, Doriath and even Alqualondë that he thought were behind him now, buried deep in a past he was trying to forget, but that were as much a part of him as they had always been.

As the sun rose, he saw more clearly, including the tracks left by two small feet in the sand, that trailed back towards the wilder land.

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'What is your name, fair elf maiden?'

'Nellas.' 

Was that but a mere figment of his imagination? Had he dreamt up this fair elf maiden named Nellas?

He looked down at his hand. She had touched it, now he was certain of that.

Would she come back? He had craved tranquillity, to be alone with his thoughts, but this maiden, she was not like any proud Noldorin princess, or any angry Teleri. She had seemed gentle, kind, and pure. _Would _she come back?

There he was, looking at the sea, as always, scanning the horizon for an invisible ship, but lo! Now he turned and scoured the shoreline. 'No ships to be found there, to be sure,' she thought, 'perhaps he is looking for _me_?'

She had crept away the night before, leaving the elf in a confused state, and sought sanctity in her trees, but now she was drawn inexplicably to him again. As his gaze turned in her direction, she saw once more the pain and hurt residing deep inside his eyes, and her heart went out to him. 

"This time it shall be different. I will not stay in the woodland, looking down at his suffering, like I did with Túrin, I will help him if I can, now." 

Slowly she came out, and the dappled early morning, sunlight on her skin turned it rose, peach and cream. She looked Maglor directly in the eyes, returned his look, unflinching, and smiled. He too smiled cautiously, not sure how happy he should be about her reappearance; did he not want to remain alone now until the ending of Arda?

They approached each other hesitantly and then walked silently, parallel to the sea, in silence.

All sorts of ideas went through her mind. Where was he leading her? Should she speak, breaking the gentle silence between them? A bird called out, ending the silence, before settling on a low branch and looking inquisitively at the two Elves. He cocked his head, and his eyes gleamed intelligently at her, seemingly urging her mouth to open, and words to spill out. But how could she? It had been so very long since her last conversation with elf or man. She had been awed even in front of Beleg the huntsman, but this…Maglor seemed taller, more elegant, even for his simple clothes, and definitely one of the _noble_ elves.

They were walking in the direction he desired, that is, farther along the coast, towards a new horizon. His arm brushed her shoulder, and he gazed sideways, nearly embarrassed by the touch; but a small bird on a nearby branch twittered impatiently, urging him to overcome his new feelings of discomfort. It was a white bird, a colour so pure and precious…He looked again at the creature, but suddenly it swooped upwards, huge and powerful, the Silmaril bound to its breast. He rubbed his eyes, no the bird still was perched on the branch, hopping from one leg to another. Nellas had stopped, she too was mesmerized by the bird, and bent over to stroke it.

"No!" The cry left his lips, slipping out involuntarily. 

She froze, pale hand in mid air.

"Why?" She whispered.

"I…I am sorry," he muttered weakly, "please, we should leave." He grasped her hand rather more roughly than he had intended, but a pain throbbed in his chest and only eased as they gradually left the bird behind.

He shivered, even though the sun had nearly reached its zenith. Why had he seen in that harmless bird Elwing bearing the Silmaril? 

His action had frightened her, but his grip on her hand had loosened, in fact his arm was now slack and she felt she was the one leading him on. When was the last time she had done that? Leading a young boy through the maze of trees, his usual grave expression giving way to wonderment and delight…

He walked in a daze, lost in thoughts of his actions during the third Kinslaying; the continuous fighting, cries of innocent elves loosing their possessions, their homes, their loved ones, _themselves._

Slowly though, the cries subsided and he was in Sirion no longer, but walking alongside a pretty elf maiden named Nellas, and it suddenly dawned on him that he knew nothing of her…

She had known who the boy was, and why and where she was leading him, but this elf was a stranger to her. She stopped. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a vague form waddling not far behind them, a white bird, surely not the _same_ white bird?

"Let us sit here." His voice was soft, soothing after his previous outburst.

She sat down in the sand, and studied the vast sea. Powerful it looked, roaring, thunderous, bringer of joy or misery.

"I am very curious about you. You did not recoil from me, or run away, or stare at me with hatred. Who are you?"

"An elf of Doriath."

At the name, Maglor winced, closed his eyes.

Nellas took a deep breath before speaking again.

"I have seen you briefly before…"

"When?"

"I…I was in my tree. There was fire in Menegroth."

"Yes indeed, fire, too much fire."

"You ran through the trees."

"I did." He was intrigued. So she knew what he had done, yet still did not despise him.

"I looked down, and saw you running."

"How can you be so sure it was me?"

She looked abashed, and did not answer.

"I am sorry, please continue. You must forgive my tone, I haven't spoken with any for so long…"

Surprised at the coincidence between them, Nellas spoke:

"Your hair."

Both looked now at his shiny locks.

"The other one," she whispered, "the one who searched the forest, his hair was copper coloured."

"Maedhros is -was- his name."

"Oh." She looked at the ground, watching the white bird, who left small marks in the sand as he turned circles, nearer and nearer, then darting away again, just out of Maglor's sight.

"Tell me. Does my name really mean nothing to you? Do you not know of my past?"

"I have heard your name once before, but it was a long time ago. The minstrel of Doriath, Daeron, spoke of you, saying you were a mighty singer, but not so great as himself."

Maglor smiled despite himself.

"Ay, I have heard his name too."

"So you can sing?"

"Indeed. I will sing my lament, Noldolantë for you, if you wish."

Nellas' eyes sparkled.

"I would be honoured. But please, tell me something of yourself, your kin."

Maglor's voice grew strained.

"I am Maglor, son of Fëanor, son of Finwë. I was born in Aman, the Blessed Realm." He stopped.

'My father made three great jewels, radiant beautiful powerful jewels, they held the light of the Two Trees, even though they have long since withered. The Silmarils. They were hallowed, and the fate of Arda lay interlocked with them. The Dark Lord stole them, and my father then my brothers and I made an oath that none could break…" His voice trailed off.

"Did you break it?"

He paused. She really was ignorant in the matter.

"We swore to wage war on any who withheld a Silmaril from us. Any, even elf or man. The oath pursued us, we could not sleep while someone possessed the jewels." 

It was not an answer, but he hoped she understood the meaning of his words.

"A man there was, named Beren, and together with Luthien the fair they penetrated the fortress of Morgoth and wrested a Silmaril from his crown. That is when it spiralled out of control."

"The Tinuviel walked often in the forest of Neldoreth," murmured Nellas, her voice tinged with sadness, "she was so beautiful to behold; long dark hair, grey eyes, clothed all in blue."

Was she really listening? She seemed lost in thought again, but he felt soothed suddenly. As Nellas was paying little heed to the meaning of his words, so they lost their importance; after all, those concerned were gone now.

"Is that why Menegroth was destroyed?"

How could he say that his brothers slew the son of Luthien Tinuviel, whom she admired and honoured? But…he did not want lies to come between them. Bracing himself, he uttered slowly:

"Yes. Dior son of Luthien and Beren would not yield the Silmaril. Driven by the oath we launched an attack on Doriath…he and his family were slain." He waited for her to gasp, cry, sprint away, but she did none of those.

"The oath, the oath, it was your doom, your curse."

He was astonished by her insight.

"It is, or was."

"I knew one similarly afflicted, it seemed. He marred all the works of his own hand, and was wronged by none other than King Thingol."

He smiled. Once again Nellas had given her simple, childish interpretation of the situation. But he hadn't told all.

"The Silmaril bearer escaped down to the Mouths of Sirion, so we bided our time, then launched a final assault there. But fortune is not on the side of kinslayers, and the bearer escaped us yet again. Only my elder brother and I remained, but two Silmarils still lay locked in Morgoth's crown, so the oath couldn't sleep. Finally was launched an almighty assault against the powers of the Dark Lord, and his fortress was thrown down and the Silmarils taken." 

He swallowed, this was the longest he had spoken in a long time. "My brother and I crept into the camp where they were guarded, and took them. The elves were awoken, and we were prepared to die then, a Silmaril in our hands, clutched to our breasts, but we were denied that chance. We were not slain, but once far away we separated, each taking a Silmaril. But the pain of the jewel was unbearable, I threw it in the sea."

She was shocked, she hadn't realised what a tumultuous life the elf had led, but it explained the weariness in his eyes.

"If the jewel lies in the sea, surely also the oath is no more, and you, be freed from it."

So she _had_ listened, and he heard finally the words he had wanted desperately to hear.

"That is what I hope. But dreams still torment me, and…" 

He was cut off as Nellas leaned towards him, and her lips brushed against his; she felt like she was touching rose petals and he, a fruit of the golden Laurelin. 

A small white bird rose into the sky, uttering a raucous cry, then circled the two elves before departing over the seas.

~Fin


End file.
